


Only He Can Hold Her

by TravelDustedShoes



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott, Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loneliness, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelDustedShoes/pseuds/TravelDustedShoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone at night Friedrich Bhaer has thoughts.<br/>And they are not always appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only He Can Hold Her

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for mentions of adult activities.
> 
> Written because there is entirely too little of the Professor on here. I hope to change that.

Alone in his rooms at night, he envisions her hair. In America they call it ‘chestnut’, and for once he finds that the English language has one over his native German; for truly her hair was as glorious and robust as the steady chestnut. Though his thoughts are not of a steady nature. He does not simply admire that mane for is unruliness, and it’s constant will to escape whatever style its mistress commands. No dear reader he entertains other thoughts. 

He contemplates the feel of those waves in his hands.  
How each tendril would curl and wind its way through his fingers. 

He wonders, quietly and reverently, how it would cascade down her bare back.

How it would shine in the candlelight. Of his room.  
If it were to form that sensual curtain around his face. As she straddled him...

He breathes deep and with each exhale tries to purge the thought from his mind. But each breath in replaces the thought of her hair with some new intoxicating idea. 

In.  
Her smile. How it is brighter than the sun. He dreams that one day it would be all for him.  
Out.

In.  
Her grey eyes. An ocean. A tempest. Passionate. Curious. Searching.  
Out. 

In.  
Her fragrance. Light. Clean. Lingering.  
Out. 

In.  
Her skin. Smooth. Flush with exertion. Glistening.  
Out. 

Some nights he can conquer the unseemly urges. He can hold to his morals. Other nights, he gives in and succumbs to the lusty nature of man. Those nights there is only one word on his lips.  
“Jo.” 

She had been gone some months with nary a word. His only knowledge comes from Mrs. Kirke - who one day informed him that Mrs. March had written. Jo was well. Beth was not. His heart broke; for in knowing Jo he felt that he knew her beloved Beth. Soon they would be parted. 

She left him, to return home and to return to her boy. Her Laurie.

Oft he would picture the man; a pinnacle of American youth - unscathed by the war - wealthy, charming, full of confidence and poise. The cares and hardships of a generation’s worth of time a mere thought to be dismissed. He would compare himself to this Laurie, and all that he found lacking were empty pockets and grey hairs. Twenty years earlier he would have been a worthy rival - ledger books notwithstanding. 

A proposal was coming. He could feel it. Jo had her sojourn in New York. Her sensational experience before taking her boy’s hand. 

All that would, nay could remain, were the memories of a dear friendship. 

But he wanted so much more.  
He wanted to hold her to his chest.  
And profess his love. To show her his love.  
Jo.  
Such a tiny name for such a woman. 

Yet, there that barrier remained. Laurie. Her boy.  
Only he can hold her.


End file.
